Curses!
by Taki Ashflower
Summary: Hetalia, first meeting between Iceland and Malta (OC)! Rated T for cursing, both in English and in other languages.


**A/N: Hey! How y'all doing?! Ha ha! XD**

 **So, as you can see I'm really into Hetalia right now XD and this is a short fic I wrote for Iceland (one of my favorite characters), and an OC that I have, Malta. I kinda have a lot planned for these two, but I don't have much actually written yet… :D However, I do have their first meeting here! It's a part of a bigger story, which I will probably post in other one-shots, or will add to this story in chapters, depending on how many comments/reviews this story gets, if any… That being said, please comment/review/other (I don't know how this works)! I really want to share this thing!**

 **Alright, I'll stop pestering you guys! XD Enjoy!**

 **(I do not own Hetalia. I only own Malta, my OC, and that's really good enough for me. She's A LOT to handle…)**

The streets of Manhattan, NY were crowded and bustling with people, as they always were; or, at least, as they always were when Emil was invited (read: forced by his insane family) to come to a UN meeting in America. He hated these times of the year, when every time he'd try to come up with some excuse to get away from the international traveling clusterfuck circus that was the United Nations, and every year his family would come up with some new way to overpower his arguments, physically if needs were. They seemed not to care. It wasn't really the meetings themselves that he found so unappealing – although they did always not only _end_ in catastrophe, but _start_ in catastrophe as well, and barely anything ever got done – but rather the social interaction and etiquette that was required of him to perform for everyone, everywhere, _all the damn time_. Emil was a teenager – to put on the appearances of not only a strong and independent nation, but also a polite and hyper-mature delegate, was practically murder against the sarcastic, moody, hormonal Icelandic punk rocker whom he truly was.

On the other hand, try telling that to said Icelander's sarcastic, moody, slightly less hormonal, Norwegian punk rocker of a big brother. One would think that he'd at least understand Emil's concerns, but _no_ – having had plenty of practice in court, big brother Lukas seemed to have completely forgotten what it was like to have no experience, no self-confidence, and no connections to any of your fellow strugglers. Unless you counted the one guy from Hong Kong, Xiao Chun (whom Emil may or may not have had a bit of a huge crush on), which he didn't.

He shook his head clear of Xiao Chun (seriously, though, that guy was _hot_ ) and climbed the remainder of the steps into the lobby, bracing himself for the slight amount of human interaction that he would immediately have to face. Usually Emil would just get one of his family members to ask for directions to certain conference rooms, while he'd be safe to pretend to be engrossed in serious and professional business on his phone (what, didn't Tumblr debates count as professional business? Lukas didn't think so). Unfortunately for him, however, he was going to his first UN meeting alone today. Alone. All by himself. Gosh, wasn't his family proud when he left earlier that morning – Emil, going to his first UN meeting that didn't include Lukas, Mathias, Berwald, or Tino! He'd practically had to mumble a goodbye and sprint out of the hotel, for fear that he might melt into a puddle of embarrassment on the spot. Then he'd never get to this meeting, which – despite the fact that his family had made so much of a bloody deal out of it, and yet not one of them had really told him what the meeting was for even though he was sure they all knew – he was actually, ashamedly excited to go to. It _was_ his first meeting alone, after all…

And thus, in order for it to be a relative success (because success, at UN meetings, was really only ever relative), it would be ideal for him to find out where exactly this meeting was being held. He swallowed his social anxiety and snarky demeanor (although that didn't really help) and walked up to the front desk. His target was a middle-aged woman with short, curly red hair, wearing half-framed glasses with a chain that meant business. It almost made him feel like _he_ was the target.

Either way, he forced a small smile onto his face before clearing his throat to get her attention. "Excuse me, madam. Do you know where there is a United Nations meeting at 1 pm today, on the sixth floor?"

The lady – Florence, according to her nametag – glanced up at him with piercing coffee-brown eyes above the frame of her glasses. "I'm guessing it's on the sixth floor?"

Emil had to consciously stop his eyes from widening. _This little…!_ Had she any idea whom she was dealing with? Emil wasn't just any old kid, or any old UN delegate; he was Emil Steilsson, the personification of the Republic of Iceland. He had caught volcano-flu so badly just a few years ago, he'd nearly killed all of his neighbors with it! The Icelander may have been young, hormonal, scrawny, and generally non-threatening – hell, even cute! – but he was still a force to be reckoned with. He could go into full volcano mode if he wanted, right now.

However, sadly, countries were actually forbidden to cause any intentional harm to human individuals unless absolutely necessary, and he was sure that Lukas wouldn't appreciate hearing that his little brother blew someone up because they were being rude. He was independent now, and that included being mature.

So instead he smiled a little more and said, "I know which floor it's on. I'm just looking for the name of the room where it's being held is all. Can you find that in your schedule?" He didn't say 'please', though – after all, he was still a teenager. He was sure that this lady, whoever the fuck _she_ was, could understand.

Florence passively turned to her schedule and briefly checked – ha! I won! Take _that!_ – before turning back to him. "It's in room 666," she informed him.

 _Well, fuck you too. Touché._ "Ah, I see. Well, thank you very much, I'll be on my way. Have a nice day." And with that, Emil courteously nodded his head and swept himself away towards the elevators, both thanking and cursing his luck as he slipped into one that was already open, pressing the button for floor 6 once and the button for the elevator doors to close about fifteen times.

Once he was on his way up, he threw back his head and whisper-screamed to himself in exasperation.

AISURANDOMARUTAAISURANDOMARUTAAISURANDOMARUTAAISURANDO

It was only as he was walking down the hallway (left to 650-699) about two minutes later when it finally occurred to Emil that Florence just may have been pulling his leg when she'd said that the meeting was in room 666. Surprisingly, this made him less pissed off than it made him nervous, because it was the first meeting he'd ever been to alone and he wanted to make a good impression by showing up. No, he _needed_ to. He may have been independent, but it didn't mean that he was necessarily doing well – tourism had dropped since he'd separated from Norway, not helped by his social and physical distance from pretty much everyone else in the world. Except for Greenland, but he was pretty sure that only Greenland herself (Freja Karla Kohler, if he was remembering correctly, but he hadn't seen her in a while) actually lived there.

He was also kind of nervous because, even if she'd been telling the truth, the meeting was in room _666_ , of all places.

Thankfully (or not), upon reaching the door to room 666, Emil found it to be decorated with a poster advertising the following message:

 _UN Meeting Here, 21_ _st_ _July, 1 pm_

 _All welcome!_

He let out a breath of relief. Well, at least he was in the right place, even if the Devil later came after his soul or something. Oh well, at least he was an atheist!

With that in mind, the Icelandic delegate slowly but confidently opened the door and peeked inside to find that the room he had stressed over finding was entirely empty.

"… Goddammit," he muttered. That old hag _had_ been pulling his leg, after all. And now – he glanced at his watch and groaned. 1:00 pm exactly. Even if they were next to pointless, UN meetings were not something to be late for. _Now_ he'd have to go back into the lobby, hanging his head in shame, and make conversation _again_ with that crone to find the actual room, then he'd be late on his first day… He sighed in defeat, an unhappy lump coming up in his throat as he recalled what Tino, the personification of Finland, had said to him earlier on that day:

" _Ice,"_ he had soothed Emil gently, his warm smile ever present. _"There's no need to be so anxious."_ The Icelander didn't bother to correct the Finn that he'd had an anxiety disorder diagnosed by a medical professional and that he couldn't control it, nor that he hadn't actually said or done anything displaying anxiety thus far this morning. Tino tended to be able to tell these things, and Emil really didn't have the heart or energy to correct a man trying to console him.

" _You'll be fine, I know you will."_ He assured him. Lukas, who was standing on Emil's other side, nodded as Tino continued. _"I was fine on my first day. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"_ He ruffled the Icelander's hair affectionately.

 _This!_ Emil wanted to tell him now. _All of this is the worst that could happen!_ But, as luck would have it, Tino was not around right now to hear his ranting. Oh well, he'd just tell him later. In the meantime… Emil glanced around the room one last time. No bags, decorations, not even a microphone on the podium. Nothing to signal that anyone had been in this room today. With one last sigh, biting back tears that had no fucking business being behind his eyes, Emil decided to just go to a coffee shop and walk home later. He turned around and made to walk away.

Unfortunately for him, he had barely even turned around when he saw something absolutely terrifying, and promptly screamed and jumped about a foot into the air. Said terrifying thing also screamed, dropped their unidentifiable paraphernalia, and jumped back into a fighting stance, which was rather appropriate because, upon realizing exactly what had made him scream, like a baby, _in a public space_ , Emil _really_ felt like punching it in the unfamiliar face.

It – or, rather, she – was even shorter than he was. A young girl, about his age or maybe even younger, with olive skin and caramel eyes that were too light to be in place with the rest of her. Her long black hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, with a short lock on either side of her head loose and curling around her face. She was wearing… Actually, upon further inspection, Emil couldn't tell _what_ she was wearing. It was a low-cut grey suit jacket over a white shirt with a bright green tie, along with what looked like a kilt and knee-high brown leather boots. Whether her outfit or her facial expression was more unnerving, the Icelandic boy couldn't have said – from the look of her, she could tell that he was pissed (as she did not step out of her fighting stance), but she too was sizing him up, her features changing drastically in some way or another after examining every small detail of him. They locked eyes, neither daring to blink. _Who the fuck…?_

"W-who are you…?" Emil demanded after a moment, when she hadn't spoken and the silence was becoming too much for him to bear.

The girl blinked, then slowly grinned and stepped forwards into a normal standing position. She extended a hand – like _hell_ Emil was shaking it – and looked him right in the eye as she spoke. "Kekkin Vella! Pleased to meet ya!" Her voice was relatively light, that of a teenager's, but with an accent Emil had never heard before. It comforted him a little, though, knowing that he was not the only one here who hadn't yet grasped the flow of the English language. Although, what kind of a name was Kekkin?

Lost in his musings, Emil failed to notice her eyes, still expectantly trained on him until she spoke again. "And you are…?"

He started a bit, but it wouldn't have visible to anyone who wasn't paying close attention; a trick he'd learned from Lukas. "Emil Steilsson," he answered smoothly, nodding to her politely and refusing to touch her. If it bothered Kekkin, whoever she was, she didn't show it – instead, she simply smiled and lowered her hand, first picking up her assorted strange flyers and tea packets (the paraphernalia which she had dropped), then resting the hand on her hip as the other held her supplies. "Ah, Icelandic, huh?"

This time Emil's surprise was visible. His eyes widened as his eyebrows furrowed in defensive confusion. How did she know that? She certainly wasn't Icelandic, or he'd be able to tell.

"Your last name," she explained. "They always use '-sson' for males and '-dottir' for females, right? But they use the father's name. Kind of sexist."

Emil agreed – it was kind of sexist. But _he_ wasn't, and Iceland, in fact, was ranked the best place in the world to be female. Emil himself was an adamant feminist, and often joined in protest against things like period supply taxes and wage gaps. That being said, neither Iceland nor Emil was perfect, and he was working hard to achieve better conditions for females, males, and people who didn't identify as either of those.

"Yeah, a bit. But things are getting better." At the look she gave him, however, Emil thought it best to clarify. "In Iceland, anyway. It's why I come here, to learn more ways of making life better for people. Especially people who are at a disadvantage."

He relaxed when she nodded in agreement, then became annoyed with himself for having been looking for her approval. He didn't need a stranger to tell him how to run his country! "There was supposed to be a UN meeting here today, which I was invited to. According to the front desk, it's being held in this room, but-"

He broke off as her face lit up to an almost impossible level of joy. "You're here? For the meeting?"

"Isn't that kind of what I just said?"

"Woo hoo!" She shouted, dropping her belongings again, both fists rising into the air as she literally jumped for joy. Her eyes had closed in excitement, like an anime character's. _Who IS this person, and WHAT is wrong with her…?_ "Thank you so much!" Her eyes opened again, the unnatural color of them striking Emil for the second time as they widened in his direction. "Oh! Iceland!" She grinned at him again, flattening out her jacket which had become askew as she had jumped into the air. She extended her hand once again. "I'm Malta."

He did not shake her hand, again, but this time out of blankness. Sensing that his inner GPS was on a wild search for wherever the fuck Malta was, she explained herself to him. "Very small, relatively new island nation off the coast of Sicily," she stated as though reading off her nation's Wikipedia page, with the air of one who has done this many times before and does not expect that she can stop anytime soon.

"Right. There," was all Emil could manage, in Kekkin's brief moment of silence as she retrieved her things once again.

"Hey," she began slowly, once she was standing up straight again, her eyes widening in realization. "I just realized – you're a small, relatively new island nation off the coast of Scandinavia. I guess we have a bit in common, no?"

At this point, Emil could honestly say that the last thing he wanted was to have something in common with this annoying stranger. Nonetheless, he nodded in a purposefully detached way, hoping it might get his message across to her.

"Although it does kind of make sense," _no, I guess_ that's _not happening,_ "for another island nation to be attending this meeting."

Emil blinked. "What do you mean?"

Kekkin tilted her head at him. "Because this is a meeting specifically for developed but small countries? And we'll be dealing with a lot of problems that arise in such places, especially tourism? All of this info was on the flyer, didn't you read it?"

 _So that's what this meeting is for?_ Well. That made sense. If Emil had been the one to hear about this meeting, he _never_ would've gone. Admitting he needed help was not exactly his forte, especially when he knew that his family would be all too happy to help him out. And while that may sound fine, Emil wasn't born yesterday – anything that everyone in his family save him agreed on could only end in terror and, in the worst case scenario, a pet puffin (but that was a whole other story).

Realizing he'd become lost in his thoughts once again, Emil snorted. "Of course I read the flyer. Just took me a minute to realize what you were saying through your accent."

As soon as he'd realized what he had said, he immediately regretted it. Sure, she was annoying and had embarrassed him the moment they'd met, but that was just mean of him. _She didn't hurt me at all! God, the air in here must be getting to me…_ And look who was even talking! If somebody had insulted Emil based on that, he probably would've blown them up without thinking.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that, I don't know what I was thinking…" He began awkwardly. He'd never been good with apologies, and it sounded so pathetic he almost cringed. _Ugh, I want to punch myself in the face…_

"Eh?" Kekkin asked innocently, looking up from a flyer that Emil hadn't noticed her looking at before. "Oh! I'm so sorry, I was checking back to make sure the information really was on here! I didn't realize you were still talking!" She grinned apologetically. "So, what were you saying?"

Now he _really_ wanted to punch himself in the face, but it wouldn't have helped his blush any. So instead he said, "N-nothing. Nothing important." He coughed, hoping to discourage her from poking for the truth. "By the way, is this meeting actually being held in here?"

The Maltese delegate nodded emphatically. "Yes! As soon as more people arrive, I'll start right away."

 _She'll start it?_ Whoever this girl was, she was just full of surprises, which did not make her any less annoying. "You'll start it? Wait, do you mean…?"

"That I'm running it?" She grinned. "Yes, I am! Come to think of it, doesn't it say that on the flyer as well?"

"I wouldn't know," Emil dismissed, waving his hand to catch her attention before it disappeared into her flyer again. "Just out of curiosity, is this your first time running a UN meeting?"

She nodded happily again. "Yup! Gosh, I really hope it goes well! I wonder who will show up… Besides you, of course…"

 _Did the day just get even worse? Yes, yes it did. Take that, Tino._ Emil sighed. Thought so. She had clearly missed a very key element of hosting a UN meeting. He remembered a similar situation that occurred not long ago, when Lukas had been hosting a UN meeting for the first time. His big brother, always so quiet and watchful and careful when speaking so as not to mess up, forgot to put one crucial detail on the flyer – an RSVP address for the nations who would be attending. He'd spent nearly six hours waiting in a conference room, alone, at the UN headquarters in Oslo, and after he'd told the rest of the Nordics about it when he came home that night, Mathias made the mistake of laughing. He subsequently slept on the couch in their house for two weeks (like his Icelandic brother, Lukas was a bit sensitive), during which time Lukas never failed to remind Emil that, when he hosted his first UN meeting, to never, _ever_ , forget the RSVP information.

Looks like whoever had raised Kekkin hadn't taught her similar sentiments. Thus, he decided grudgingly, it was up to him to do so.

"Can I see that?" He asked her, gesturing to the favored invitation in her hand. Confused, she gave it to him and he scanned the paper for the first time, looking for the RSVP address, and was quite surprised when he actually found it.

 _RSVP to 1 United Nations Plaza, New York, NY 10017, USA, Room #0921_

"Uh, what're you looking for?"

He glanced up at her (with a little more respect than he'd had for her moments before, but only a little) before straightening his posture and handing her the flyer back. "You put the details for the RSVP in there, yet you're wondering how many people are going to show up for the meeting?"

"Well, yeah. I didn't actually get any letters saying that people would be there, but RSVPing is just a formality, right?"

Having just lost the respect he'd gained for her, Emil decided against another potentially cruel insult and simply shook his head. " No. In order to attend a meeting, the attendees have to RSVP, otherwise they can't be let in according to UN rules. If they don't RSVP, none of the information that is exchanged in the meeting is accessible to them. Anyone who wanted to come to this meeting would have RSVPed, and you would've received their letter."

Much to Emil's surprise, explaining this to the Maltese delegate made him feel… Pained, in a way. As though he was experiencing being on the receiving end of his explanation at the same time as her. He felt her eyes, ever intent on him, widen as though they were his own. Disbelieving, she hurriedly checked the flyer again, examining the address for the nonexistent error that she believed must be there.

Finding nothing but unfortunate truth, she slowly turned her eyes back to him. If no one RSVPed, then it could only mean that no one was coming. She'd already come to that conclusion, and used her connection to his eyes to confirm her hypothesis. As soon as he saw the realization set in her eyes, he had to look away – he had always been more sensitive than he liked to believe. He did wonder, however, why his family thought that going to this meeting might be a good idea for him, especially since not many other people seemed to be very interested in the idea. Oh well, he'd just have to ask them later.

Actually… Why not ask them now? The crestfallen Maltese delegate standing in the doorframe didn't seem to have much else to say, as she was too busy staring at him, her flyer, the floor. Emil felt a slight pang looking at how disappointed she was – and it was, after all, her first meeting as a hostess – but there was no way to fix it now. She had wasted both her and Emil's time, but he might as well save the rest of it now.

"Well, if no one is going to show up, I'd advise you to just cancel the meeting. See you around, Malta." And with that, he nodded his head curtly in goodbye, turned, and quickly walked away.

Contrary to his façade, he nearly winced when he heard the door to room 666 gently close behind him. Not like he felt _guilty_ , or anything… He hadn't even done anything wrong! If there was no one else there, what was the point of a two-person meeting? Besides, she wasn't exactly the type of person he could see himself willingly remaining in the same room for the entire meeting (which, according to the bottom corner of the flyer, was supposed to be _four hours long_ ), much less being able to hold a conversation with for that amount of time. Also, there was a little word he needed to have with his family about this entire operation, especially Lukas and Tino, whom he was _sure_ were behind everything here. He had no reason to stay and every reason to leave.

So why did he find himself firmly halted in the middle of the hallway, unable to make himself move in any direction but backwards?

Maybe it was her expression that made him rethink, the way her eyes (still perturbing, but he actually found that he was growing used to their strangeness) were the perfect window into her emotions, displaying all the disappointment and disbelief that he wished that he himself could show… Maybe it was his own feeling of solidarity with her, having an understanding of her emotions that he wanted to show her… It might've even been that, after coming all this way to meet some people who could relate to him on a different level from his family, finding at least someone, no matter who they were, was enough to make him feel conflicted about leaving her behind. Or it could've been that he _really_ didn't want to have to face Florence too early again. Any way that it was, Emil simply didn't want to leave. But going back too was impossible, since he wouldn't have a good reason to… Unless…

An idea clicked in his head. Wait, Kekkin had mentioned working particularly hard to increase tourism in smaller nations, hadn't she? And it was true that, since he'd become independent from Norway, tourism had gone down significantly in Iceland… And while Gilbert, when he came to visit near Emil's house, had some pretty good ideas, there was only so much that an ex-nation from when and where tourism wasn't a huge part of the economy could think up…

He smiled to himself. So he did have a good reason, after all…

Within a much shorter time than it took to walk away from room 666, Emil was back at the now poster-less door, this time opening it without hesitation. He immediately noticed Kekkin, who had taken down the poster and was now attempting to origami it into a container to hold her materials, and walked over to her as she looked up. The moment she did so, surprise filling her face as she stared at him, he began to feel self-conscious – those eyes still kind of freaked him out. Emil took in a breath:

"I remembered that you'd mentioned tourism before as being what you were looking forward to discussing, right?"

"Y… Yeah," she responded, her mouth a bit dry. "Why?"

"Well…" He faltered slightly, feeling his face begin to heat up and kicking himself for it in his mind. "I-I have a bit of trouble with that, so-o…"

Kekkin smiled knowingly. "You want help?"

"… Yes."

"I know a thing or two about that."

AISURANDOMARUTAAISURANDOMARUTAAISURANDOMARUTAAISURANDO

They were both in the elevator not a minute later, Kekkin doing most of the talking and Emil just mainly listening. They had very quickly found that this sort of arrangement worked pretty well for the two of them – Emil, who wasn't really comfortable with talking very much unless it was one-on-one and he knew the person well, could mostly listen as he felt comfortable doing and could interject now and then with his own thoughts. Kekkin, who was more comfortable when contributing more to the verbal exchange than her partner and was in a position to do so, could do most of the talking and listen to his occasional comments, carrying on the conversation from those points. The roles fit quite nicely for each of them, although they had kind of veered off-topic quickly:

"We're leaving the conference room?" Emil had asked when Kekkin had started walking towards the door, origami poster-box holding her supplies in hand.

"It's kind of stuffy in here. Maybe it's because I'm used to being out in the open air, but I just can't stand to be in places like this for long." She explained, politely holding the door open as he followed her out.

"Thank you. So where are we going instead?"

"I didn't have a place in mind, but I am kind of hungry… You have any ideas?"

"I'm pretty sure there's a café somewhere in the lobby. We could try there."

On the way down the hall and in the elevator, the conversation had continued thusly:

"I wonder why no one came today. To be honest, I'm kind of disappointed, especially since there are so many smaller countries who I really think could use the information I've gathered from my research."

"Fuck them."

Emil's eyes shot wide in horror at the realization of what he'd just said, _in front of a colleague_. In front of a stranger! Kekkin, however, remained unfazed, even smirking a little at his comment.

"I was also thinking that, I just… You know. Might not have said it like that."

Emil glared at her half-heartedly, blushing quite deeply. She grinned it off.

"At any rate, I wouldn't _really_ be able to fuck them. Not any of the guys, anyway."

He nodded, then blinked. Wait. What did… Did she just _come out_ to him? Now it was Kekkin's turn to blush a bit. "N-not that I'd fuck the girls either, I don't know any of them! And I'm underage, and… Oh dear…"

"You're gay?" Best to ask her now, plain and simple.

She nodded hesitantly. He smiled, the first genuine smile he'd managed in a long time. "You're not alone."

Her mouth dropped open a little as she stared in shock at the Icelander, who was now blushing even more furiously and refusing to meet her eyes. _Why is she so surpri-_ "I _knew_ it! Man, my gaydar is better than I thought!" She fist-pumped, reversing their roles as Emil stared back at her in disbelief.

"… W-well," he began shakily, attempting to return to the original topic of conversation – the meeting and its non-attendants. "They might have been slightly turned off-" he broke off and glared at her as she snorted "-don't do that! Anyway, they might have been _mildly concerned_ at the fact that the meeting was supposed to be held in room 666."

"Ah, yeah," she groaned, smacking her forehead with her palm. "I knew that would come back to bite me in the _natka_."

Emil did not know what _natka_ meant and did not wish to. "Yeah, what was up with that room number, anyway?"

"I don't know! There was this lady who I had to see at the desk about getting a room assigned a few weeks ago. I forget her name, but she… Dear Lord. I mean, ever since the second half of 2016, in America-" here they shared a look of mutual disgust for the time "-and even before that time, I take pride in being a so-called 'Nasty Woman'. But this lady was _an actual nasty woman_. I don't know _what_ her problem was, but she was so rude! Just so short and snappy, and I kept noticing her staring at me like I was an alien. And then, at one point, she asked me what race I was. Like, seriously? That's so insolent! And how is that any of your business?" She sighed exasperatedly. "Maybe it's because I'm from a place where it's so small and isolated that we really only have our own culture, but things like that… That's unheard of in Malta."

Emil nodded. "Same for Iceland."

"But in America, everything's just so different, and it's so hard to tell that from the outside. I've met wonderful people here, but when people are like that… It really makes you think twice about this place. And about yourself. You know what I mean?"

"I'm sorry," Emil told her earnestly. She nodded at that in thanks, before looking down again, the mood more serious now than before. Then, something clicked again in Emil's mind. "Say… Could that woman's name have been Florence, by any chance?"

"Florence?" Kekkin thought for a moment. "Actually, that does ring a bell… Why do you ask?" The elevator doors opened and they stepped out into the lobby.

Emil gestured over to where two figures stood at the entrance to the UN café left of them. "Because, if so, then I think we may want to reconsider our plans."

There stood Florence, looking as pissed-off as ever, next to a blond woman who appeared to be her friend. They were talking quietly to each other, staring in Emil and Kekkin's direction. Emil could feel his eyebrows contract together as he formed an icy glare of his own back at them. "I don't really feel like eating at this particular café," he stated casually, not taking his eyes off of the women.

"I can't disagree," he heard Kekkin mutter from beside him, glaring as strongly as he was. He turned to regard her for a minute, taking his attention away from Florence and Blondie. "What say we eat elsewhere?"

She turned her attention towards him, glare softening into consideration, then into a grateful smile. "I say that's an absolutely fabulous idea," she stated with approval, winking at him in thanks. He returned the gesture with a small bubble of joy growing inside of him. A secret thank-you… I've never had any sort of thing like that with anyone, other than my family…

He seemed to be in a dream, almost, as she said some unregistered words, gestured to the exit, and began walking toward them with the Icelander following dozily at her side. Does this mean that we're friends? That I've made an ally? Just the thought made him feel like he was glowing. He smiled happily, the hazy feeling settling comfortably around the two as fitful silence enveloped them.

At least, until Kekkin quickly checked to make sure that nobody from the inside the building could see them, stopped, and discreetly, carefully raised her middle finger to the doors, an impish grin coming to her face as she realized that she could do that! Emil's eyebrows raised in surprised delight, laughing as she put down her paper box and raised her other hand, whisper-shouting, " _Għall-infern miegħek!_ "

They locked eyes and grinned at each other. Emil faced the buildings, flipping his middle fingers up alongside Kekkin's.

" _Ræstu þig._ "

 **A/N: Sooooo… What didja guys think?**

 **I'm mostly happy with it… I really wanted to call the fic "Fuck You", but according to the Terms of Service here on I can't. Oh well, makes sense though! I don't want anybody to accidentally come across this and find it offensive, and Curses! works just as well! :D**

 **In case anyone was confused:**

 _ **Natka**_ **: Maltese (according to Google Translate) for bottom, butt, backside, etc. You get the gist. XD**

 _ **Għall-infern miegħek**_ **: Maltese (according to Google Translate) for "To hell with you". Apparently, they don't have a version of "fuck you", so I just used this instead!**

 _ **Ræstu þig**_ **: Icelandic (according to Google Translate) for "Fuck you". Although that was kinda obvious, wasn't it? XD**

 **And that's that! Once again, please comment/review/other, I'd really love to hear from you! Also, constructive criticism is loved and taken to heart – flames, not so much. I don't want heartburn, and it's my very first fic, so please be kind to me! I promise I'll give you more fics if you want them!**

 **Alrighty, Ash is over n' out!**


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